What a stir this man’s death was going to cause! What a stink, to the security office!
“They’re waitin’ for the camera crew,” Tim said. “They had another job up in Harlem. Be here any minute. The gun went down to the lab.”
“His own gun?”
“Yeah. My personal judgment, it was a self-exit, Gil.”
“That what the others think?”
“What else can they believe after readin’ th’ note?”
“He left a suicide note?”
“No. A farewell note from her. Tildy Millett. It’s out on the table.”
It was on that same Plaza Royale stationery.
Dow Beloved— I’ve changed my mind. I can’t do it, darling. I simply can’t — the way things stand. I’m dreadfully broken up about it. I never will get over it. Or ever be anything except your own T.